


When Push Comes To Love

by LadyShady



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: AU, Falling In Love, Famous, Fanfiction, Love, M/M, Ransom, Romance, Scomiche, Stockholm's, bad boy, kidnapper - Freeform, singer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 05:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6142408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShady/pseuds/LadyShady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a shadow creeps in and snatches Mitch Grassi from his Californian abode, the tenor is forced to look his fate straight in the eye. But when new feelings begin to wash over him for the man that keeps him locked up day and night, he isn't sure what to think anymore...</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Push Comes To Love

_ You can find me in da club, sippin' on some bub, _

_ Daddy, I got what you need, you's a sexy little thug, _

_ Don't wanna be your girl, I ain't lookin for no love, _

_ So come give me a hug, you a sexy little thug. _

 

_ You can find me in da club, sippin' on some bub, _

_ Daddy, I got what you need, you's a sexy little thug, _

_ Don't wanna be your girl, I ain't lookin for no love, _

_ So come give me a hug, you a sexy little thug. _

 

“This song is the best,” Mitch commented as he brought his drink up to his lips, nearly shouting to be heard over the music and the roar of a hundred conversations in a single room. The gin slipped down his throat in a bitter wave of flavor, while the single olive remained on the edge of his martini glass, tumbling to the bottom once he set the empty vessel back on the bar. His eyes flickered over to his companion, a single eyebrow arched. “How’s your Cherry Bomb?”

 

“Too sweet,” Kirstie chuckled in response, swishing the ice around in her quarter-empty glass. “It’s a nice color, though.”

 

“It matches your blouse,” Mitch grinned, leaning over and giving her rose-colored sleeve a slight tug. Her lips curved up at the sides in a small smile, and she set her glass down on the counter.

 

“Maybe we should go soon,” she said, glancing towards the crowded entrance across the room. “I’m starting to get a little claustrophobic.”

 

Mitch nodded, scanning the crowd around them. It was a lot more stuffy than it was when they arrived an hour before, and though his mind was pleasantly clouded by the alcohol, it wasn’t enough that he wanted to endure it for much longer. “We can head back to my place. Maybe watch a movie?”

 

“Sounds good,” Kirstie affirmed, standing up. Mitch soon followed, using a hand to smooth down his dark hair. He dug into his pocket and tucked a twenty-dollar bill beneath his empty martini glass, Kirstie doing the same with a ten beneath her pink-shaded receptacle. They met eyes, and with a mutual nod, both headed towards the entrance, the blonde woman in the lead.

 

They wove through the ocean of people, doing their best to squeeze around the sweaty, moving bodies. Mitch muttered a few apologies when he elbowed ribs, or stepped on toes with his Doc Martens combat boots, but no one even seemed to notice the pair. They finally reached the doors, at which point they burst gratefully into the oxygenic relief of the parking lot. 

 

Mitch inhaled deeply, grinning over at Kirstie. “Too much intoxication in one place.”

 

“Definitely,” the woman laughed, checking her hair in the reflection of her black-screened device as they walked towards the sidewalk. “Hey, do you know what time it is? My phone died a while ago.”

 

“Um… almost one a.m.,” Mitch replied, pulling out his own nearly-lifeless iPhone.

 

Kirstie’s smile vanished. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I need to get home… Olaf doesn’t do well if he’s alone for too long.”

 

“That’s okay,” Mitch offered her a reassuring smile. “We’re still on for brunch, right?”

 

“Of course,” Kirstie nodded. “I’ll be over around eleven. With bagels.”

 

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” the man grinned, putting his hands in the pockets of his skinny jeans. He and Kirstie fell into step as they strolled down the sidewalk, the streetlights illuminating their path as they walked towards their apartment building. Small talk mingled with idle conversation between the friends, the peace of small hours sinking into their blurry minds and creating an atmosphere of nonchalance about the world.

 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Mitch,” Kirstie smiled when the building’s elevator stopped on her floor ten minutes later, her chilled hands in the pockets of her white coat as she stepped out.

 

“G’night, Kirstie,” the man grinned in response, giving her a little wave before the doors slid shut. Alone again, he gave a small sigh, and leaned back against the wall as he began moving up again. The cheerful muzak was background for his thoughts, mind wandering to a land of the bed that awaited him in his apartment, along with everything else that three dry martinis picked from the depths of his subconscious. When he was finally released to the seventh floor, his spirits were quite elevated themselves, proven by his beaming features and the bounce in his step. He dug his keys out of his Céline handbag, humming as he approached the door emblazoned with the number 752.

 

_ The figure crept through the darkness of the home, blurring with the shadows and avoiding any of the windows that cast moonbeams into the wide space. His footsteps were heedful, silent to those on the floor below him, though he was fully-equipped with the devices and knowledge to make a quick escape, if it was deemed necessary. _

 

“ _ You can find me in da club, sippin' on some bub, daddy, I got what you need, you's a sexy little thug, _ ” Mitch trilled under his breath, the throwback hit remaining heavy on his brain even as he flipped through his keychain. He plucked out the silver piece that would allow him entrance into his home, grinning in triumph.

 

_ He froze suddenly, ears pricked as a strange sound traveled to them. The man whipped around, eyes wide and hand flying to the holster on his right hip. Blue eyes darted wildly, but a sneer soon replaced the panic on his features as they landed on a small, gray cat. The creature meowed again, its emerald gaze sharp, but the man merely turned back around and stared at the front door. _

 

Mitch stuck the key in the doorknob, jiggling it slightly. On a typical evening, he would scoff, because he had mentioned the sticky lock to the management over three weeks ago, but he merely did what was necessary to get the key in there all the way and turned it to the left.

 

_ The man could not have been quicker to bound over the door, his entire body jumping into overdrive when the lock’s click sounded. He pressed himself flat against the wall, mentally slotting every planned movement into place. _

  
**Mitch yanked his key out and turned the knob, pushing open the door. “Wyatt, I’m home!” he immediately declared, stepping into his apartment. He looked around for his pet, a grin on his face, but the expression slipped away as soon as brown eyes met blue ones that shined in light from the hallway. In a split second, a scream ripped from Mitch Grassi’s tenor-laden throat, but he barely reached even a fraction of the dynamics he used in song before something hard hit him on the temple, and his world fell into sweet oblivion.**


End file.
